It's a Christmas tree! No, it's a Hanukkah bush! No, it's...

...A bunch of branches tied together and decorated.  Totally Pinterest worthy, am I right??  Our 5-acre estate lacks Christmas-sized trees.  There are a few tiny saplings, and a grove of late-adolescent firs (20-30 ft high).  Since spending money on a cultivated tree is almost as abominable to me as putting up an artificial tree, I whipped up this little beauty out of branches cut from the teenage trees (builds character) and some wire I found.  My kids haven't complained.  I love those kids!  They don't even notice their mother is a nutjob.  I'm sure they would rather have $10 worth of more presents than $10 worth of nicer tree, if they thought about it.
Take that, pagan tradition!!

Resourcefulness

My youngest child is going to turn 5 next week.  I feel like my world is shifting into a new phase, and my brain is having trouble keeping up.  I don't have to be in 24/7 survival mode anymore, now that she has finally outgrown the terrible 2's (yes it really has taken almost 3 years).  It is liberating to know that she is no longer likely to run down the street on a grand expedition as soon as no adults are looking.  It is a comfort to not have to worry about small or sharp objects ending up in the lower four feet of the house, and how they could be used by a toddler to kill or maim.  Unfortunately, my brain has a more complex and abstract task thrust upon it.  In their infancy they demanded simple helps with survival, i.e. "I'm hungry" or "I'm cold"  or "My bodily waste is in an undesirable position."  The new demand requires a lot more consideration.  It usually comes in the form of two words in an unpleasant voice: "I'm bored."
Now with my kids, "I'm bored" can almost always be translated to mean "I want to play computer games."  This causes part of me to become infuriated.  Too many of their adult relatives have chosen full-time gaming as a career, and that offends my work-hard-or-die-trying upbringing.  I live in fear of the song, "Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be Warcraft widow-makers."  So, like any good over-analyzing, way-too-fast-forward-thinking mother, when I hear "I'm bored" I also hear "I'm going to live clinically depressed in your basement until I'm 40."  That's a good enough reason to be infuriated, right??
I rack my brain daily for a preventative cure for this eventuality.  Today I came up with an idea:  It's time for a "When I was your age..."  story about Resourcefulness.  It will go something like this:  "When I was your age (referring to A, who is 8), we didn't have cell phones or tablets or even decent laptops.  I don't know when Gameboys were invented, because my family couldn't have afforded one anyway.  My dad ran a gas station, and my mom was his bookkeeper.  I had to spend many hours at the station while my mom did the books.  I had no one to play with,  no computer, nothing to play with but a few basic office supplies.  Through this terribly boring tribulation, I learned Resourcefulness (and gained a great appreciation for MacGyver).  I tested the limits of paperclips, ran experiments on the lint in my mother's purse, studied the art on the dollar bill, sketched on whatever paper was available, and thought.  Think, think, think.  I did a lot of thinking, watching the boats that did nothing in the marina.  Seriously, why didn't those boats ever go anywhere?  While we're at it, what was that weird contraption with the dark liquid?  Mom yelled at me when I messed with it.  On a few awesome occasions, my brother used it to make hot chocolate.  But I digress.
"This resourcefulness helped me immensely in years to come.  School was boring on a regular basis.  I became incredibly well acquainted with the attributes of college ruled notebook paper (the most plentiful resource for entertainment).  Home was often boring.  I spent a lot of quality time with a puddle.  It's amazing how much I already knew about erosion when I started studying it at school.  When I went out into the world on my own, I was well equipped to become a poor college student.  I was trained in the art of finding ways to entertain myself (and anyone not easily frightened) without spending any money.  My husband says I'm frugal, but really, I'm just boring.  Boredom is the mother of resourcefulness."
There you have it.  I tell my kids to use their brains (instead of the computer) when they are bored.  I try to compliment them by saying they are fully capable of finding themselves something to do.  Not much of a compliment, now that I think about it.  They certainly don't act complimented.  They usually stomp off and play pretend computer games with each other.  That doesn't mean I'm doomed, does it?

Gurly Dresser

I refinished/painted a dresser for my little girl.  That's why it has pink.

Sometimes i wish i was better at taking pictures.  Then i remember how few people actually see my pictures, and i go back to blissful apathy.

Experimenting with projects is great, because then if anything goes wrong i can tell people, "It was just an experiment, i'll do something awesome next time."  Then i hide it in my kid's room.  I'm still waiting to do something awesome...

LESSONS LEARNED from this project:  

1.  Painting different parts of the same piece with different colors really doesn't look as awesome as it may sound.  Not even sure if i like the bare wood paired with painted wood.

2.  Seriously woman, use tape!  A painted edge never looks as good as it could if you tape it first! It's a good thing this picture isn't better, or you might see the white primer peaking out next to the teal paint.  It's worse than underwear showing.

3.  It's amazing what mere shellac can do for wood.  Those drawers practically glow.  I almost wish i had taken the time to sand down the entire dresser instead of painting over the previous bad paint job.

I thought my eyes were already open

I have often heard the saying, 'You never know what you have until it's gone.'  I have tried to take it to heart and appreciate the multitude of blessings Heavenly Father has showered me with, so many simply because i live in a rich country, many more because of my upbringing by wise parents, neither of which i can take any credit for. But it seems there is no substitute for experience.
It's downright amazing how much more beautiful the world is when your son isn't dying anymore.
About ten days ago, A developed such severe asthma that he gasped for breath while huge tears fell off his red face. I was so stunned, not sure where to take him or how to get him there.  His dad took over while i handled the two boisterous little siblings.  A was soon transported to the children's ICU.  It took over 12 hours to get his oxygen levels up to normal.  After that, he improved steadily, and was able to come home the next day.
People said it sounded scary.  It didn't feel scary to me at the time, not like the fear i usually feel.  I may have been naively unconcerned, since i haven't heard of any children dying of asthma lately.  I knew there was medicine to help him, I knew there were people who would help.  I knew my son was going to be okay.  I am immensely grateful that my Heavenly Father saw fit to let my little boy stay with us.
Now my heart lightens up even more when i see his funny little smile.  I hope i will remember this feeling, and can remember to show my love for him every time he walks in the room.  My husband once said of A, Even the worst day with him is better than a day without him.

Watercolor Lampshade

Introducing my most successful DiY of late.  Why settle for plain white lampshades?  Why spend too much on a fancy lampshade?  Get yourself a cheap shade and water down some paint!

I used acrylic paint, but you could probably use anything.  I left the trim unfinished; I like the random-warbly look.  I did this green one a while ago, though now I don't have a place for the lamp.  It's a special lamp in our family--it's the only lamp to survive my five big brothers growing up.
Today I tried blue, a bit more on the warbly side.

The paint was still wet in this picture.  It has dried a bit lighter since.

Here she is in her natural habitat, the living room.
If you like the look, try it!  It's quick and easy.  I see lampshades at yard sales often.  I found the blue shade at a sale for $2.  I have an extra shade left over, extra boring shape and no color...  what to do?

Moving on... Quilting!

I'm feeling much more positive than I did last week.  I'm ready to let go of my emotional attachments to the house and enjoy my duplex with the large front yard and cool neighbors.
So I finished a quilt!  I started it before Thanksgiving, intended as a Christmas present for my brother-in-law, but I got distracted or debilitated by one thing after another until this week.

It's a crazy-quilt, like usual.  Behind each piece of fabric there's a different yard sale/thrift store/really good sale story.  It's flawed, like usual, except THE CORNERS ARE PERFECT!  Hemming is my least favorite part, and my corners usually turn out awful.  Not this time!  I'm sending it to my brother-in-law anyway, even though it's a month or so late for Christmas.  He was on my mind when i created it, so it must go to him.  Once I finish a quilt I'm anxious to get it out of my sight.  All I can see are the off-center batting, crooked seams, marks that crept onto the fabric during production, and over all ridiculousness of the design.  I can only hope that it will warm someone somewhere, even if it gets donated to a homeless shelter.
Hurrah for making something!

First World Problem

This week I have wanted to cry several times.  The feeling is followed by wanting to kick myself when I remember what it is that makes me sad.  

A house makes me sad. 610 E 12th Street.  Any house makes me sad, really, since it's because of this particular house that I won't have my own house for a long time.  I loved owning my own house, loved it a little too much.  I could paint it, break it, fix it, however I wanted.  It was always there for me, standing sturdy.  This is a convoluted tragic love story.  

Events happened, etc. etc. etc., and now we're facing a short sale on the house.  Jobs are 100 miles away from it (literally), so we can't live there.  Our excellent credit score will be decimated by the short sale, so we won't be able to buy a house, maybe not even rent a different one, for x years.  We're currently renting a small duplex full of brown carpet (oh horror), with in-wall heaters and precious little space for gardening.  

Now I want to kick myself.  

The majority of the Earth's population would view this duplex as a rather lavish dwelling.  Even in this town, there are far worse places to live.  Now please everyone remind me how it was only 7 months ago that I lived in my parents' BASEMENT, with cement floors, little privacy, a host of mice, and a washing machine that sometimes flooded the place.  

What do I have to complain about?

Other than the fact that I.  Must. PLANT THINGS!!!

I miss my house.  I miss the well-draining soil and long growing season there.  I miss the hardwood floor that survived anything we threw at it. I need to find a way to get over this.